Teju Cole and the neutering of poets

"Spring is coming. Please remember to spay or neuter your poets", a tweet from the brilliant Teju Cole – writer, art historian, photographer, and Distinguished Writer in Residence at Bard College. I was one of 292 people who retweeted that punchy line and as Spring finally does seem to be here it entered my mind again … but along with some questioning, dissenting thoughts.

Teju Cole

One thing which has solidified in the cultural world since the World Wars (first after the 1st and then even more after the 2nd) has been a fear of sentimentality. The Victorians who established the tear-moistened handkerchief as an accessory to all art forms also brought the swagger of colonialism to its full arrogant maturity. 20th century artists came to see the expressiveness of 19th century culture and the arrogance of 19th century expansionism as the same lumpy cornice to be removed from a decaying edifice. With this new aesthetic came the demolishing of much beauty, inside and outside of buildings, inside and outside of human lives.

I understand Teju's desire to muzzle mawkishness but might not such an attitude risk stifling the courage which anyone needs to create anything at all? I often see the results of this in the timidity of emotion heard in many masterclass situations. I will sometimes ask a student to exaggerate a rubato to the absolute limits in an aim to loosen them up. They smile, take a little more time than usual and then stop with embarrassment. "No, wildly more than that! How far can you go? Go to the edge!" Boys don't cry, thus the eyes in our audiences remain dry too. Composers too have been infected. Cynicism (parody, iconoclasm) has no limits in the contemporary music departments of our universities or music colleges, but if you stray too close to sentimentality there is an instant, mocking dismissal.

Of course, in all of this I'm being an advocate for the Devil, and tweeting Teju has more than a twinkle in his eye. I can't bear the soggy pap of bad poetry or bland, banal, beige music, and I love the sharp knives of much cutting-edge culture. I wince at the kissing kittens on the chocolate box. But for those who wish to perform music from a less emotionally bashful era (Elgar, Rachmaninov for starters) it is essential to overcome cynicism. That portamento slide, that exquisitely turned phrase, that seductive inner voice, that ripe modulation … all of these have to be believed in. No spaying, no neutering.

Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may: J.W. Waterhouse (1909)

Spring is here. Please give everyone a pen and notebook. Celebrate those trees. Exult in those daffodils. Take joy in those birds in the park, those lighter evenings, those warmer mornings. Risk the kitsch. Place a heavy bet on the meretricious. 'April is the coolest month' – well, not necessarily.